


A Morning at the Pink Pussycat

by anonymousmadame2911



Series: The Blue Hippo and the Pink Pussycat [3]
Category: Chris Evans (actor) - Fandom
Genre: Gen, WOC Reader, burlesque! reader exotic dancer! reader, woman of color
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 13:35:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18801373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousmadame2911/pseuds/anonymousmadame2911





	A Morning at the Pink Pussycat

You were going to kill them, especially Sasha. Definitely Sasha. Both of them knew that you worked at a strip club but they weren’t supposed to go running their mouths to everyone. Now they were bringing customer from the Blue Hippo to the Pink Pussycat. No. Absolutely not. Then the manager at the Blue Hippo would find out and you would be fired. How could they put you in this situation? 

“Hey guys.”

You threw them a sickly sweet smile.

“How can I help you?”  
“How ‘bout a table for 4?” Chris said.  
“Sure. Not a problem.” 

You bit back your grimace and put on your best serious face.

“How’s this?”  
“It’s great, but could we get a table closer to the stage?”

You were nearly grinding your teeth at his request. All of those tables had been cleaned. Floors had been swept and mopped. All that was left to do was put the chairs on the table and go home. 

“Sure.”

You sauntered over to the table that was front and center.

“I’m sure you’ll have a great view of the girls from this table. It’s the VIP table, but I’m sure y’all are the only ones coming in at this hour.”  
“This is great. Thanks.”  
“Lap dances are dependent on the girls. Just find a girl and ask her what her prices are. Otherwise, enjoy the show.”  
“Could you break a $50?”  
“Sorry. We don’t make change for anything larger than a $20.”

He threw you a gentle smile which you couldn’t reciprocate. You were steaming. You were fuming. You had half a mind to throw out a sarcastic comment. Your friends were royal idiots for bringing in an imposter to the strip club. You had worked hard to keep the two jobs separate and now it was all blown to hell. You retreated to the safety of the bar with Sasha hot on your tail. 

“Hey. Hey! Wait a minute.”  
“I have work to do. I can’t wait. What do you need?”  
“Can we get some shots?”  
“Ugh. What kind?”  
“Tequila?”  
“For you? Only the cheapest.”  
“No. No! Come on. How about some Patron? Please. Please!”  
“You brought a total weirdo to my club and expect me to be nice about it? You’re just here to stir up trouble. I oughta tell Mikey to kick you out.”  
“Nooooooooooooo. Come on. It’s only 4 shots.”  
“I should water them down.”  
“Noooooooooooooooooooooooo. Come on! I told them this place had the strongest and cheapest drinks. He’s paying for everything.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Cool. I bet he loves that,” you deadpanned.  
“We didn’t ask him to. He just offered.”  
“So, you say no. Easy, right? No. N. O. No! Nonono. See? Like that.”  
“Everything ok over here?”  
“Phillip, this is my friend Sasha. Sasha, Phillip. Ask him for your drinks. He’s the bartender.”

He looked at her expectantly.

“What?! No. No thank you Phillip. She’s got it. She knows what I want.”  
“Some of the D, Phillip. THE. D.”  
“I could--”  
“No thanks Phillip,” she muttered as she cut him off.  
“Hand me the Patron Phillip.”

He walked over and grabbed the bottle from the 2nd shelf of liquor bottles.

“You owe me,” you hissed.

You grabbed four shots glasses and the bottle of Patron. Sasha practically skipped back to the table. You set the tray on the table and poured out four shots. You smiled and cheerfully passed two shots to Sasha and Lucy. You nearly snarled at the two guys sitting with them. You cleared the table.

“Enjoy your night.”  
“What do we owe your for the drinks?” Chris asked.  
“Since you’re a VIP, it’s on the house.”  
“You sure?”  
“Yup.”

You stomped back to the bar with Chris trailing behind.

“Have I done something to you? I mean…to piss you off?”  
“It must be nice to prey on young naïve girls. Girls who don’t know any better. Girls who actually think that you’re really Chris Evans. Christ! Is this how you get off?”  
“What? No. Certainly not. I have never pretended to be something I’m not. Outside of the cameras, I mean,” he chuckled.  
“You got a lot of nerve you know that?! Just go back to Sasha and Lucy and your lame, over-grown frat boy friend. I don’t have the patience for you tonight.”  
“But I am me. I am Chris Evans. I don’t know who you think I am. But yes. I am Chris Evans.”  
“Sure. Ok. “Chris Evans” please, go and have a seat.”

It was when you did the air quotes that he started laughing. 

“I can show you my driver’s license or my SAG card if you like.”

He was wheezing so hard that he could barely get the words out. You had already turned your back to him to clean up the liquor bottles.

“Not interested. Thanks. Enjoy your night.”  
“Here, let me show you—“  
“Enjoy your night.”

He patted down his pockets to find his wallet. You hooked your arm in his.

“Sir. Allow me to show you back to your seat.”

You walked him back to the table where Sasha and Lucy had been watching the entire exchange with curious glances. 

“Ladies, keep an eye on your gentlemen. They seem to wander off.”

The DJ announced the next dancer to the stage, a rather tired-looking 22-year-old black dancer named Crystal. 

“How much for a lap dance with Crystal?” the over-grown frat boy asked.  
“$50 for one dance. $150 for three.”  
“That’s just $50 times three.”  
“I’m glad you learned basic math.”  
“But shouldn’t there be a deal if you buy more dances?”

You threw him a skeptical look.

“Why would there be a deal? This ain’t a supermarket. I know it might feel like a meat market to you, but it ain’t.”

Sometimes you had to get hood up in here because the customers didn’t understand if you spoke to them in proper English. 

“Hey. Yeah. I’ll book a dance with Crystal.”  
“Great. I’ll tell her. She’ll come and get you when she’s finished with her dance. Make sure to tip your dancers.”  
“How about a lap dance with you?” Chris asked.  
“Too expensive for you.”  
“Seriously. I have more than enough.”  
“You know…women are easily impressed with money. Not this one. Find another dancer who you can manipulate. We are certainly never going to be friends.”  
“Hm. We’ll see.”  
“Come on. Just give him one dance,” Lucy urged.

You would have to remember to murder Lucy when you had your next shift at the Blue Hippo. 

“Fine. One dance. $100.”  
“$100 for five minutes of your time?”

Chris scrunched his eyebrows together. 

“My dances are 3 minutes. I pick short songs. Cash please.”

You stuck out your hand and he put 4 $20s in your hand.

“That’s $80.”  
“So glad you learned elementary math.”  
“Actually what I said was ‘I’m so glad you learned basic math.’ If you’re going to throw my own words back at me, use the right ones.”  
“Oh you’re feisty. I love it.”  
“$20. I ain’t got all night.”  
“Ah. Here. Here you go.”  
“Thank you,” you ground out, “I’ll be back in a minute.”

You went backstage to let Crystal know she had a dance and to ring up the dances. 

“Crystal, which room are you taking?”  
“I think the Champagne Room. Nobody’s going to be using it.”  
“Yeah but they just cleaned it?”  
“I know. I’ll keep it clean. These white boys always try to pull something and once you lay it out for them, they follow the rules. Bunch of pussycats.”

You both cackled at that, knowing full-well how to control the macho attitude of straight men. Exotic dancers were not just dancers; they were therapists, security, cleaners, and money handlers. A tough job that they didn’t get enough credit for. Everyone wrote them off as glorified call girls. If the men came in their pants too quickly from watching the girls, whose fault was that? No one invited virgins into the club. 

“Don’t make him cum in his pants Crystal. You know you’re dangerous like that,”  
“Ew. One guy did that before you came in. He was with a bachelor party and they were watching the stage show. Not even more than five minutes and he ran out of the club with his friends laughing at him.”  
“You are not for the faint of heart. You could have killed him!”  
“Ew. No. He was watching Kesha.”  
“She’s dangerous too!”  
“Let’s get this bullshit out of the way.”  
“Speak for yourself. My guy is cute and so is yours. Imma make him beg for more.”  
“You always make them beg.”  
“You gotta teach me your tricks. They never beg for me.”

You changed into your American flag thong bikini and threw on a pair of red latex boy shorts over it. If he wanted a show, you were gonna shove that thing so close to his face, he would practically see your uterus. You locked up your things.

“Why are they here? It’s nearly 5 am. Don’t they know we wanna go home?!”  
“Girl, Imma ride him til I get my tips and my orgasm and then go home. Wham bam, thank you sir.”  
“See?! That’s why they always cum in their pants. They like this idea that you’re in control. That you’re using them and never want to see them again. It makes you seem unavailable. Like you’re playing hard to get.”  
“Honey. I’m not playing hard to get. I AM hard to get.”  
“Girls,” the DJ poked his head backstage, “the guys are waiting for you.”  
“Yup. We’re coming now. See you out there, Crystal.”


End file.
